Rambling to vexillology by Deadmau5

For lack of a better name by deadmau5 is the album today, down we go then eh?

well where to start, seems pretty pulsy I think I'll forget about grammer for now I really feel like going down a metalic hallway no doors to my left nor right just moving forward pause.  walls retreating but still evident, there are things on the floor not sure what these things are though, debree maybe?  Debree from what?  doesn't matter I'm seeing a finish line; black void.  why keep moving forward?  what is forward?  a wide circle track sounds good.  The walls are back eh?  no messy floor this time, kinda drab really.  There are holes where the metal bits of wall used to be; I'd be dodging these holes if they were bigger, I don't know why I would though... the holes lead back to the circular void.

I don't like it.

Vexillology by deadmau5:

Well I think the problem with the attempt prior was that I was trying to visualize the music too much; maybe that's a type of project I can try later.  For now, I just want to ramble about like usual but with the music influencing my train of thought.  The emotions evoked in the music change my thought and word choices.  I'm still on track 1...

I feel pretty conservative right now, it's all very structured and stable; nothing doing.  So I want to be a doctor, no I don't feel like talking about that right now.  I want to talk about the devision between the analytical and the creative that I've made for myself, I have a difficult time seeing myself as a creative doctor, a scientist who explores and develops his repretoire of words.  I want to find a "creative doctor"  someone who can eat the colours and see the sugars of anything.  I don't want to sacrifice anything of myself to become something else entirely, that is my greatest fear.  It's not about using big words for the sake of using big words.  I learn all of the tools in my toolbox before I build a shelf.  I also want a pretty shelf, nothing solely functional, I want to remember it.

On another wavelength, maybe I'll readjust, here we are.  It's like deciding between cake and ice cream, we're all a little bit bi-sexual.  Unless you're deathly allergic to dairy, it's a little silly to decide with such intense affirmation on whether or not you prefer ice cream over cake.  "it's between you and God" they say, what the fuck does that mean?  And they wonder why I learned about sex online.  between the birds and the bees and the gods dogs and donkeys...they're so bloody cryptic.  They metaphor things that we don't understand, and when we ask the questions that great students ask great mentors, they continue to avoid everything important and we don't know why.

I think it's important to talk about sexuality, it's such a big part of our lives and it has been in a cultural reformation for the past century.

Sort of in a brain freeze, not really thinking about anything interesting right now, just going to go on and on and on, ooo text message... excellent, my tennis racquets are ready;  tennis should be fun later today, playing in the evening.  ruUN ON sentence.  oh golly, anywho; sorta going all over the place in a mindless run-about in that forest again, you know the one where all but one of the trees have no trunks.  Just long needly branches whacking you in the face; you can't stop because you're trying to settle on a stable idea, a rock.  you just keep running and running then BAM! The only tree trunk makes its presence known with a stark clunk of an acknowledgement, a grunt if you will...which bruises your face and knees.  all you see is stars, something intelligable at least, the blood rushes to the back of your nose and calves.  You try, then quickly refuse to weigh the bottoms of your feet to the ground, it's a nice tree trunk, is that a bird's nest? How lovely.

Sometimes I wish the stones and beetles would wave like the tops of trees.  Then I remember that there is no other place that I'd rather be, and I just sit there staring at anything, it doesn't matter.  The breezy branches sound just like the chain saw one hundred metres behind me.  The burly beetle (burly for the sake of being burly apparently) looks and feels like the pebbles it navigates around and over.

Is it just "us and them" that you have to offer, is there nothing else inside brewing?  What a sad existance, to only see what is said and not imagine what is thought.

Not long now, almost over.  I wonder how much the music shapes my thought processes.  I find I need to end these trains of thought with the song, kinda neat.

Hey check out the pretty colours, oooo, contrast and juxtaposition; again, nothing doing really.  Just saying things, you'd might as well stop reading this.  There really isn't anything left to say for now, I could just as well end it now.

But I won't, that's not how it outta be done, I must wait until the song is over.  Soon....four and a half minutes, let's see what I can write in four and a half minutes.  No form, not structured, no visible connections; just back of the mind odd connections.

Pajama hair in my squirming sick clogs so comfy apparently I wouldn't know the bottle is 65% full, how wonderful, still some potential I guess maybe some paper bags over cd on the ground and broken by clogs? are they clogs? I don't  know, crocs? I have no idea I'm not very knowledgable in footwear.  I think clogs are some kind of dancing shoe, maybe, maybe not.  I do know that either crocs or clogs (I'm thinking crocs) are supposedly really comfortable.  I feel the need to reitterate my lack of knowledge on this subject.  If I have offended anyone then I am sorry.  I will end this abruptly by the way.  When the song is over and done with.  It seems soon now. yes oh my goodne